Classic Poem

SCENE II. — A broken wall near a public road, with the Virgin and Child painted on one corner of it. A vesper bell going .

Enter D E L IVRY .

De Liv. This is the spot; — and this the hour, when men
All breathe a prayer, and charity's meek boons
Are best desired of thoughtful multitudes.
Some stop, and look this way; yet I see no one,
Nor glimpse of one that comes. — A broken wall,
Newly protected by a sacred image; —
Heaps yet of dust and ashes, unremoved; —
Coarse weeds that grow in corners among shards,
Where the sun blisters; and before my feet,
A bed of flints! — The poorest kneeling-place
Of guilt and shame, crowned with the throne of pardon!
Supremest height, visiting lowest earth —
What is guilt? and what pardon? what the measure
Of each to each in this unequal life?
Of joy and sorrow, wit and ignorance,
And circumstance that makes and fashions all?
Why should some perish for small sin, and some,
Made strong with great, ride starry o'er the world,
Shouldering the heavens? Why reputation, wealth,
Health, honours, children, soft beds and bright days
To one rank wretch, and the cold starving night,
With horrors that teach curses to mild tongues,
To the soft bosom that believed him better?
Why these, if those? and why should vain good men,
Instead of being the fops of accident,
And thinking themselves blest in the dread difference,
Not blush to be held better? shudder not
To feel more happy, honoured, comforted;
Nor loudly claim to share and share alike
With shame and grief, and so at last pull down
Change on all earth out of the honest heavens?
But oh, you same sweet and mysterious skies,
That have permitted man in his sharp tears
To question thus your suffrances, you also
Touch, as with ends of your soft beams, his heart
With patience, and humility, and hope,
And bid him mildly in his tasks work on.
What sound is that? of all the trivial sounds
Of earth the fearfullest! and thence most fearful,
Because so trivial light, and yet so wretched!
I now, amidst the weeds and dust, discern
The cup with which the lepers beg; nought else,
Nor any soul that might have caused the sound;
Yet shuddering peasants come to drop their alms.

Enter Peasants , who quickly go away crying " A leper! a leper!" and leaving the O LD P EASANT that appeared before .

Old Peasant . Save you again, Sir, save you. 'Tis the cup
And clapper of the dreadful leprosy:
Though some do say how she that sits within
Is not one suffering like, herself, but only
Some poor soul begging for the hospital;
Some say a penitent, and some a saint,
And some a terrible poor loathly thing,
Ashamed for to be seen. You are too bold, Sir,
Methinks, to go so near. I wouldn't do it,
For all my life is worth. She sits, you see,
Behind that wall, to warn folks not to stop.
I cannot bear to look on him; that 's truth.
De Liv. Should she, by some miraculous woe, have fallen
Into this misery! her face defeatured!
Her being dreadful to herself! — Perhaps
'Tis not herself, but poor Louise, and she
Not smitten thus. Why should — either be smitten?
The peasant doubted it: — he said all doubted it.
Oh! if no such thing be, this place, for all
Its woeful looks, will be a Paradise.
Come best, come worst, let her but love me still
And her poor eyes shall fill not all with tears.